A Shot In The Dark
by woodsse
Summary: My idea of how to get around the lack of tornadoes in Alberta. Ty wakes up in the middle of the night to find he's not alone in the barn. After the terrible events which unfold from that moment on, can Ty ever truely take back control of his life? R&R!
1. Someone There

**Ty** crept down the old barn stairs, his heart in his mouth, a grey t-shirt flung hastily on over his pyjama trousers. Every step seemed to be a fanfare of creaks and dust. At the corner he stopped, and listened; expecting that every moment a face would appear in the dim light of the passage below and he'd be discovered. Without his own movements he could hear it again: soft, shuffling footsteps and the metallic clicks of the stable door latches and hinges. The walk wasn't one he thought he recognised by sound; not Amy's light pace, or Jack's sure stride, not even Tim's forceful march. But the back of his mind itched with a memory. The fist of panic which had been rising in his stomach clenched; they were being robbed.

Ty edged the last two steps, his mind fighting tiredness, racing over what he should do. Again he stopped and listened, pressing himself out of sight behind the tack shelves. It sounded like a single person; there was no talking, and he could only ever hear one set of footfalls at a time. But why weren't the horses crying out? Just as he stood thinking there came a yielding whiney from Spartan's stall, and a larger rasp as the stable door was pushed open. Out of the furthest corner of his eye Ty risked a glace into the main barn. For the first time, in the dim, filtered moon light, Ty saw the outline of the thief. A man, it looked like a man, though he was turned away from him, doing something to the muzzle of the horse. And small; huddled under a huge wax farming coat, shoulders hunched and knees soft. His head and face were wrapped in shadow from a wide, jet black Stetson. But it was none of these features which made Ty retreat further into the harnesses; it was the thin, spectral silhouette of the cocked rifle he carried.

All drowsiness was gone now. Ty's eyes were wide open as he looked around for some sort of weapon, some way to gain the upper hand. He could reach the safety of Lou's office, but what then? If he used the phone to call the main house he'd surely be heard, and would only be putting whoever came to help in terrible danger. Amy would be the first to run to help the horses; he couldn't put her safety at risk, whatever the cost. Spades, rakes and forks stood glinting in a barrel across the passage, next to the food bins. They were probably his best bet. Glancing over his shoulder again Ty saw that, for the moment, he was alone. Both intruder and horse were gone. But not for long.

The barn door scraped slightly across the concrete floor in the shallow breeze; as the thief slipped himself back inside. "He's looking for a second horse", thought Ty; "he thinks he's managed to escape anyone's notice". He was right. The man walked slowly, noiselessly up, down the barn three or four times, the muzzle of the gun stretching out ahead of him like a hideous branding iron. Finally he paced and turned in front of Copper's stall, right opposite Ty's hiding place. He nudged the door open with the toe of his boot and slid inside. As Ty watched the poor boy back uneasily away from the shadowy figure his plan began to form. If the man had the same incredible ability as before, to sooth and master the frightened horse, then he, Ty, would have to move whilst both his hands were busy. He had to take the gun out of the equation. That came down to one moment, then, when he had to open the stall door and lead the horse out. Ty squeezed his eyes shut and breathed heavily through his nose, letting the shuddering breath flow out of his mouth, trying to brace himself. God, how had such a quiet day come to this? He suddenly realised how cold he was, dressed in only a t-shirt and long pyjama trousers. The hairs along the length of his bare, muscular arms were raised, and he didn't know if it was out of fear, adrenaline or chill. With another heavy breath he reached both hands up to his face, rubbing them quickly over the stubbled cheeks and through short russet hair. One thought came to mind; "For Amy."

The man had moved all the way up to Copper now and had wordlessly produced something Ty couldn't see from inside the coat. As he watched, the auburn pony came cautiously forwards of his own accord and nuzzled at the package. He saw, in amazement, the man easily slip a halter over the horse's relaxed ears with a single hand and, turning, pick up the lead rope. As he turned though he rested the rifle on the stable door for a second, pulling it open with his newly free hand. Ty stirred from his cover.


	2. That Man

**As** noiselessly as he could Ty stepped from the shadow and withdrew the nearest shovel from the barrel. It was heavy and unbalanced in his hands and the dark steel of the blade frightened him, it was a potent weapon, what if he'd made a mistake? What if he was about to make one? But he had to shake the doubts; with one step he came out into the light of the door and raised the club to head height. One more step.

But the man was faster and more alert than Ty had anticipated, and the frightened backward pull of the horse as it saw Ty emerging from the shadow was enough to alert him to the danger. He ducked to the side as the blade of the shovel came crashing down upon the concrete, seizing the rifle and crouching to the floor. Ty staggered under the force of the missed blow, retreating a few steps and attempting to recover, to set his trembling hands in time for a second strike. But the stranger stood, rifle in hand, and the light from the door fell full across his face for the first time. Ty couldn't move; he looked full into the face of the man and he could not move. The spade hung thoughtlessly in midair, their eyes locked. Ty's were shocked, deep brown with remembrance, traumatised. But the man's were small, almost opaque, and hard. Finally Ty broke the petrified state. He stumbled backwards, sideways, back towards the stairs, dropping the useless spade. He needed to sit down; emotion was covering him. He wanted to cry, wanted to shout, wanted to laugh. The man moved too, but he didn't feel the same emotions. Ty met his eyes once more, and saw the failure to comprehend. Once more his eyes widened in terror; flinging himself backwards into the passage he lunged out an arm, "No!"

The sound of the shot rippled through the cold night air.

Amy Fleming came round the door of the barn.


	3. Repetition

~ Minutes earlier ~

**Amy** held open the screen door for her father and grandfather, pointing her flashlight into the inky darkness around them; "There granddad, can't you see him? It's Spartan, I'm sure."

"OK," said Jack Bartlett, squinting along the light beam, "but if it is, what in the name of hell is going on Amy?"

But Amy had already reached the gate, and was crossing into the yard. "Amy!" Tim shouted, and she paused for a second, "Wait 'til we're ready before running off." He whispered roughly in Jack's direction, "Rustlers could be back."

"Good point," Jack agreed, "I'll get my gun. Just in case." He rubbed a bear-sized hand across his whiskers and went back into the farmhouse. None of them had forgotten the horrific events of last summer, where Tim had nearly been killed trying to defend his cows and his daughter. Amy was still looking towards the barn. Her flashlight needed new batteries, the light was dimming, but she thought she could see that the door was open. Her first thought, when she'd looked out of her bedroom window a few minutes earlier, had been that Spartan had somehow gotten free from his stall, but that didn't seem possible now. He was stood in exactly the same spot, head down, unfussy; and how had he opened the barn door? Ty should have locked it before he went to bed, maybe he'd just forgotten, but she didn't like to think so. Not when he knew how important the horses were, especially Spartan. Running in the same stream as her dad her thoughts now turned to rustlers, and she froze with terror for a moment at the thought of Ty alone in the barn against them, but there was no sign of a truck, except Ty's old blue pickup, no light, no voices. He would have raised the alarm somehow if the horses were in any danger; she knew Ty. What then? She had no other explanations to offer. She had to go see if Spartan was OK, to find out what Ty had managed to do this time.

Then suddenly from the barn came a clang of metal on concrete. Amy flinched at the jarring noise and looked up at her father. He had heard it too, and both looked quickly towards the hardly open barn door. Silence. A breath. Nothing happened. Still Tim stood uneasily on the porch, fidgeting yesterday's grubby jeans and shirt, hastily thrown on when Amy had roused him and Jack, absentmindedly massaging the old wound in his shoulder. But Amy was too impatient, and too inattentive. She turned back towards the barn and took off again at a run.

Tim saw her; no longer daring to shout he whispered violently, "Amy! Amy, get back here, now!!" But just like the Amy he knew she didn't stop; just like her mother she rushed on headlong. Tim sighed in exasperation, barely disguising his fear, and charged down the wooden steps after her.

Amy slowed to a stop at the door; Spartan was tied up to the fence outside. What was Ty doing? She had no rug, no water. She hunched herself back inside her coat, still in her pyjamas, and pulled back the semi open door, Ty's name already forming a shout on her lips.

But then the shout was shattered by the thundering canon of the gun, and she choked on the name, coughing it up in a horrified scream. Because it wasn't Ty in the barn, well, at least not Ty alone. She saw the pale face, the tightly shut eyes of her boyfriend in the moonlight as they contorted in fear, as he flung himself into the dark stairway. She saw the small curl of smoke rise from the cold shadow of the gun barrel, heard the deafening thud of sound exploding in her ears. But nearest, almost filling her vision, taking all the light of the little torch, was the hulking, spectral figure of the man in black. And as she screamed, he turned.


	4. A Father's Place

**Ty** collapsed against the stairs, one word still filling his mind, echoed and magnified by the pound of the shot through the air and the thwack of the recoil, and some higher, some confusing sound that he couldn't place. A horse? No. Um…something else then? He couldn't think straight, he needed to concentrate. But he couldn't; his mind felt numb. Like his legs. Ow. That's what was starting to prickle at the edges of the word in his mind; pain. He must've hit his hip against the stairs as he fell. Damn; probably hit a nerve. Yeah; he could feel the pins and needles in his heels as the blood started to creep back. And his stomach was knotted achingly, still raging with terror and nerves. He took a deep breath and it loosened slightly, but still burned. Why? Why had he been afraid? Facts were slipping over one another, sliding just beyond reach or being taken just over the horizon. _Taken_. Something was being taken. No; something had been taken. Or something was about to be? He didn't know; he was so useless, he never knew the right answer. The old Ty pressed through in a rage of confusion; _"You idiot. No wonder Mum's a mess after spending half her life with pathetic loser like you; no wonder Dad left. No wonder Wayne's still around, you never stood up to him; you never stand up to anyone."_ His head throbbed with pain; he heard his stepfather's voice. _"Waste of space…"_ Thud. _"Disgrace…disgrace…damned all humiliation of me…"_ Thump. _"Why don't you save us all the trouble, eh..."_ _"Wayne, don't!" _A sweet voice raised high, like the one he had heard earlier, interrupted the gruff slurred sneer. _"Why don't you though...why don't you…go crawl into a hole…just like your precious Daddy…and…"_

_Snap_. He remembered. He looked up. Stairs. Food bins. Tack. Shovels, forks, rakes. Gun. Empty stall. Gun. Horses, Spartan, Copper. Gun. The stranger, no, not the stranger, theman; that man. He heard another noise, someone shouting something from outside; they sounded a long way off. Who? There hadn't been anyone around before. Just the two of them. And another noise; the noise from before. A scream, that's what it was, he could tell now. From by the door. But that's where he was; the man. And the voice, it sounded so familiar, but it couldn't be. It was horrified, terrified.

Amy. The name cut through the mire of Ty's brain like nothing else. Clear thought came in front of him. He'd stood up before he'd realised, things spun a little; he was dazed. He looked; the man's back was just ahead of him, in the black coat with the black hat. And the gun, the gun was turning away from him too. And over his shoulder he could see her, Amy. As last time he moved, finding strength and passion anew, running and leaping onto the man's back with a strangled shout. He had no care now; he just needed to save Amy.

The dark man cried out in gruff shock as Ty's arm snaked over and around his throat. The gun flew up and let off another thunderous blast into the barn roof, sending a shower of dust-confetti down upon the two men. But Ty managed to get a hand to it before the man had time to aim again, and he knocked it down onto the straw strewn floor. Amy couldn't do anything but stand in shock as the figure bucked and wove frenetically, arms and hands waving and grazing Ty's face as he tried to throw the heavy weight around his neck. But Ty held, eventually managing to swing a bare foot into the back of a pair of thin knees. The man buckled with a cry, arching his back and sending them both tumbling to the floor.

Tim had hurtled across the yard as fast as he could after his daughter, the sound and shock of the first sound of gunfire driving him after her. Her scream called him on, why did it feel like he was going so slowly? "Amy!" He cried. He needed her to react, to turn, to run away. Not just to stand there; what was she doing? "Amy! Amy!" She'd disappeared; she'd gone into that godforsaken barn.

The sickening clout of the two bodies on the concrete made Amy choke again, but broke her paralyzed mind. She stepped forward and bent to her knees, dragging the horrific weapon from under the struggling men. Breathing heavily Ty wound both arms tightly round those of the smaller man, desperately trying to contain his struggles, but the man kicked out with incredible strength, again and again, writhing like a snake. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip with pain as lash after lash landed on his shins, feeling his strength slowly fading, feeling his advantage being torn away. As Ty opened his eyes again they met Amy's, equal and only a foot away, and the same look flowed from one to another; help.

Tim as near as threw himself around the half open door and into the barn. Amy turned, and Tim saw the gun and understood the expressions in the pair of young eyes and the one pair of cold hard eyes before him. "Dad…" Amy began; but Tim didn't need to be told to take charge. Brushing, almost knocking Amy aside he too lowered himself to the floor. Ty closed his eyes. A wave of weariness surged through him; he struggled to keep his hold. But Tim's arms closed alongside his and together the wrestled the now hostage into a kneeling position.

"Amy, put that _thing_ down, somewhere where I can see it. Near the barrows, there. Now get some rope." The man had stopped struggling, his hat had fallen from his head during the struggle on the floor, but his eyes were roving the room ceaselessly. Amy did as she was told, passing the coil into a hand which her father quickly released and replaced at the man's side; but he did not try to run. "Ty…" Amy tried to start, falteringly. She wanted to cry and hug him. He looked at her for a moment, and the sentiments seemed to pass between them. But he just closed his eyes again, concentrating on not letting go, and bent his face into the man's shoulder. Tim passed the rope around the man's wrist and around his waist quickly and effectively.

"Amy, go find where your grandfather's gone." But she didn't have to move. Jack appeared at that moment at the door, pale, anxious and cradling an old hunting rifle.

"What in the name of God is going on? I heard the shots so I roused Lou to phone for the sheriff's department…" He tapered away, seeing the man pinioned between Ty and Tim. His voice filled with ill disguised malice and rage, as he looked the thief dead in the face. "Who are you? What the hell do you think you're doing in my barn? Darin' to take a shot at my staff and granddaughter, eh?" He moved forwards, shifting the gun in his arms, but Tim held out an arm. "Easy, Jack. He can answer to the police."

Jack spat roughly on the ground, "Pah." He seized the man under the arm and, as a group, they rose, Jack and Tim seemingly supporting the silent, seething, body. "Well, I can be hospitable at any rate. Let's stick him in a pen until the law arrive." Ty peeled away as the two older men led the bound man down the aisle of the barn. Amy followed her father and grandfather instinctively, and Ty was about to follow, but then he stopped; stopped as if he'd hit a brick wall.

"God," Ty thought, "God…" The numbness began to creep back into his legs. They stumbled backwards, turning sideways. He had just realised something; something else. His back hit the wooden side of a stall with a shallow, soft thud, and he stopped. Stood; his chest heaved. He looked back down the walkway at the group and the man. They were putting him into the empty stall at the end. Amy turned round, realising Ty wasn't there, and gave him a smile of concerned encouragement, as if saying "Come on; nothing to be afraid of now, you saved me. What are you doing, silly?" Even in his thoughts her voice played along with a feeling of warmth, of sunshine and comfort. But it wasn't Amy he needed to see him now. He opened his mouth; it felt like the biggest effort of the night so far, but only a whisper would come out. Frustration mingled with the pain and returning cold terror in his veins. But he had to try. Ty blinked one last time, forcefully and exhaustedly. His chest was getting tighter, panic rising. He had to speak now. The air moved through his dry throat.

"Dad…"


	5. Something There, Something Else

**The** barn was still dark; no one had turned on the lights yet. Amy was following her dad and granddad. "This is surreal." She thought. Half an hour ago she had been drifting around a dream, curled up in her bed in the main house. Now she had been almost shot at, had two horses almost stolen, and helped tie up a thief. What time was it? She knew she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep that night; even if everything was sorted out before daybreak. As she walked passed Copper's stall she paused; one of her sweaters was lying on the floor, one that she couldn't find the other day. She bent and picked it up, and Copper moved to the stall door to see what she was doing. Amy smiled as he nuzzled into the familiar smell of the jumper. The door swung open softly as he came forward; Amy gently pushed him back and firmly bolted the door. "Good boy," she soothed, stroking his nose. "You're not going anywhere, are you?" Then, turning back around, she realised Ty wasn't with her, wasn't following them.

He was leaning against the stall nearest the door, in semi darkness. It looked like he was just resting there; just standing and breathing. Amy realised what she had missed; he must be in complete shock. "God," she thought, "he could have died tonight." How far had that bullet been from taking away the boy she loved? A lump rose in her throat. He needed her right now. He looked up, as if he knew she was watching. His eyes seemed dull in the moonlight, focusing behind her, following the men. But then they moved to rest on her face. Amy tried to swallow the lump, to hide her fear; she gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile, turning her hand at her waist, asking him to follow. He opened his mouth, his face focused as if this was a moment of some great importance, as if he was about to tell her something. But nothing came out. His eyes had drifted again. Amy's eyebrows creased; what was he doing?

His chest heaved. He looked down, down at the floor. Like he was about to cry. Amy went back towards him; she couldn't bear to see the hurt, the pain in his face. As she moved though he looked up again, and this time said something, but Amy didn't hear, or didn't understand. "What?" He tried again, swallowing hard. "What? Ty I, don't understand, what are you trying to say?"

Now she was closer she could see his face better; but it scared her more than ever, full of anguish and suffering. She put her hands on his shoulders, smoothing them over his stubbled cheeks, but his face remained turned towards the other end of the barn. "Hey," Amy tried, softly. "Ty. Hey, it's ok." He looked at her now, looked at the shinning blonde hair pulled loosely to one side, and the light summer pyjamas. Some comfort, at least. She was here. But she didn't understand. He'd tried, twice; all the energy left exhausted to form the same word twice, two useless words, lost to the silence of the night.

She put her hands on his stomach, pulling them to his hips, trying to draw him into a hug, trying to be protective. But they both felt it at the same time, on both their separate skins; what Ty had realised less than a minute before. Wetness. Damp; seeping through the grey t-shirt. Amy lifted her left hand; looked at it. Looked Ty in the face. In the eyes; in the deep, fading light of his eyes.


	6. Fire and Smoke, Ice and Pain

**Ty** was feeling weaker; so much weaker. The pain was arriving in waves now, sparked by Amy's innocent stroke. He could see the blood on her hand as well, as she held it up to her eyes. Oh God; that meant there was a lot of it. What was he thinking? Of course there was a lot of it; he could feel it. Spreading slowly across and down, warm and clammy, soaking through his shirt. Shot. The word juddered through his brain, leaving a trail of pain. Blood. A drop ran free, coursing down his leg, staining the pyjama bottoms with violent scarlet. The feeling made him shiver and tremble; like ice cold water down the back of your neck. No; it wasn't just like cold water, it was cold water, freezing him, sending chills racing down his arms and legs, shooting them across his chest. Drowning; it felt like drowning. The only warmth was the patch across his stomach, numb and quiet before, but now lit by the searing pain behind it. Fire and ice.

Things seemed to be stopping and starting in sequence. His eyes blurred, then cleared, then blurred again. Amy switched in and out of focus, but didn't seem to move. She was looking at him; looking at him so deeply, the way they used to when they sat out on the hay bales in the paddock at dusk during the fall. Like nothing else mattered, only the memory of that face. But she had to move, she had to understand. "Da..." He tried once more, but his ears wouldn't listen for the whole word, and he couldn't tell if Amy had heard or not. That was it; his legs buckled. He slid, downwards, slowly, back pressed against the stall wall, legs slipping out from underneath him. Maybe no-one would ever know. Maybe it would be warmer on the floor; he definitely knew the darkness which was creeping into the corners of his eyes and the borders of his brain would be warm. It was telling him so; painless, warm comfort. He saw Amy following him with her eyes, her mouth opened, but Ty could hardly hear; everything was muffled, pulled and fluffed into sounding like running water or gusting wind. She said something again, no, shouted. Her mouth was wide, her eyes were horrified. He wanted to help, he did, but he couldn't hear. He wanted to reach out from his steady descent, but realised that she was already holding him up, her hand supporting his uninjured side, his whole side. But then she reached her other hand towards him, to help. And Ty couldn't stand the sight again, the coarseness, the horror, the intrusion of the blood on her hand. His blood. He felt something which tasted like iron rise in his throat, followed by a further stabbing pain to the side.

Pounding feet. He was on the ground now, though he didn't remember the last bit, the landing. Pounding feet. Someone was running; something was happening. Amy was still there with him. Ty tried to smile at her, and found to his surprise that there was some energy left. She was holding him, sitting behind him, her head over his; cradling him with her arms. And crying; the tears were landing all around him. But it was uncomfortable, more painful. The angle was hurting his stomach even more, crumpling and pressing it; making his vision worse. Now just colours were moving past, shadow and light spots. But then the pressure lifted, and shifted, and the focus came back. Jack was there too now, and Tim, over by the door, looking out. Then Ty realised what the pressure was. Jack was holding Amy's old sweater, it was smeared and stained with blood, holding it and turning it, trying to find a fresh patch to press down with. They were trying to stop the bleeding, basic vet stuff, why hadn't he realised that before? Where was he though, the other one? He saw Jack's mouth move, and Tim turn back from the door, saying something else probably. But where was he? Ty tried to twist round, to see down the far end of the barn, but Amy held him tight, forcing his shoulders down. Why hadn't she listened before? He needed this; he couldn't understand why, but he needed to make them know. To make them all know; to make him know. It wasn't hate, or anger, or distress; everything had been a mistake. The link was a fact. And pain pushed it forward in his mind. Mum wasn't there; but more than anything right then Ty wanted his Daddy.

Amy took his hand in hers, squeezing it, and he tried to squeeze back. Tried to convey something of urgency; then realised how unlikely she was to understand its roots in the present situation. Tried to open his mouth again, the exhaustion returning to every movement as the clarity of the pain ebbed and flowed. "A…my," he tried this time, again it was little more than a whisper, dry and brittle, but she looked at him, eyes brimming with tears. "Amy, he's…" Jack's hands moved again.

He cried out, arching his back and biting his lip. The pain was so immense, it wanted to overwhelm him. He could hear himself, like he was underwater, screaming. Burning, shaking, inextinguishable pain. But again it ebbed, slightly, after what seemed hours and hours. He was gasping for breath, but he couldn't feel the air coming. Instead his chest rose and fell before him, blocking and revealing in turn the mess and blood of his body and the sweater. Amy's tears were peppering his face and she was pulling him ever closer. But then Ty saw something in her eyes; a question. "What did you say, Ty?" The voice was blurry and cracked, but it came through with the sounds of the stream and the wind. "Ty? What was it? Ty? Can he hear me, grandpa? Pl…please Ty, what was it?" His arm flopped uselessly at his side, but she noticed. "Amy…" Dark blots started popping on the rosy pink of Amy's face in the moonlight. Please God, this time, let it work. His eyelids shook with strain, forced open, held. "He's…my…dad."

Pray. Count one; count two.

Amy looked at her grandfather. She and Jack looked back at him; then at each other. Jack said something Ty couldn't hear, but it didn't matter now, he'd finally made them understand. He squeezed her hand, just feeling the tackiness of the congealing blood on their palms, and finally the tears streamed into his eyes too, and broke forth and dribbled down his paling cheeks. He squeezed again and tried to hold on. Now the darkness was coming closer, and it scared him so much. "Fight Ty" said an old voice in his head.


	7. Amy's Side

**Amy** held on, tried to hold on. Her boyfriend was crumpling in front of her. Ty was collapsing, sliding down the stall wall. Her hand was wet and sticky, covered in his blood. It was slightly warm. Her other hand still rested against his side, the unbloodied side. But she could feel the pressure building on her palm, his weight sinking until she was holding him up.

Her breath started to race, she was terrified. "Oh my God" was the only thought her mind could conjure, and it came through, again and again. "Ty" she tried. "No, no, Ty!" This couldn't be happening; this wasn't happening. Not after everything, not after all the drama and heartache. Ty's eyes were blurring, Amy's heart tore almost in two.

"Grandpa!" Nothing; Jack and Tim were trying to tie the thief to the feed rack in the furthest stall. The man had long given up struggling, and now his eyes were also still. He was listening, it seemed. Ty's legs slipped a few more inches underneath him. "Dad!" Amy screamed it; she has so scared. This time both men heard it, and the agony behind it. They looked at each other for a moment. "Amy?" Shouted her father. "What's wrong?"

But she hadn't been listening for an answer. Ty was slowly slipping away; tears were falling down her face like rain. He shuddered underneath her hand and slid again, and this time her one hand alone was not enough to hold him. It stung, prickled and shook, but she lifted her bloodied hand towards his…his…wound. The word sounded so ugly, so foreign and inappropriate in her mind. Ty's head lolled slightly, looking downwards at her other hand on his waist, and for a second she thought he had smiled. But then his eyes, those open, large, honest eyes, twisted to her left. And she saw that he saw the blood on her hand again. His mouth came open, his throat rolled, and his shoulders heaved. She reached out to him; put the hand on him, on his warm shirt. But his eyes closed, and Ty collapsed to the floor. And neither Jack nor Tim, coming through the door of the last stall, wondered why Amy was crying anymore.


	8. Loose Grip

**"He's...my...dad."** The words were simple; audible for the first time to Amy's straining ears. But they made no sense. She looked at her grandfather, hoping he'd be able to point her in the right direction, to take the lead. But his face was blank, bare apart from a pair of angry tears in the red corners of his eyes. They both broke the stare as Ty let out a low moan of pure pain. He was crying too, unchecked tears streaming quickly down his cheeks. "Jesus." Amy's grandpa muttered under his breath, and Amy couldn't tell if it was a prayer or an oath. Ty squeezed her hand again, slowly and deliberately, almost desperately. Amy bent over him, running her thumb across the prickled cheek, scooping up the tears, then smoothing the hair off his brow, feeling the silky coolness of it play on her fingers, and kissed him, quickly and lightly. She tasted the salt of both their tears mixed together on her lips, felt the painful breathing. Her grandfather stood up beside them, casting a look over the two like he didn't want to leave for a second and miss a change, but then he quickly turned and walked to her father who was standing by the barn door, still talking hurriedly and intensely into his cell phone, throwing an arm around as he looked into the dark night outside. They said something to each other, and Tim's mouth fell open; his eyes like daggers.

"Gunshot victim." That's what he'd said, after pulling the phone from his pocket and running outside to find signal; so horrible, but right. The Sherriff was coming; the ambulance further behind. Grandpa had tried to stop the bleeding, Dad had called for help. Everyone was doing something, except her. She felt so useless, snivelling and cradling on the floor. He had saved her; he was already hurt and he'd saved her. From his own father. Amy realised the impact of the word again. Ty's eyes were almost closed, the lids fluttering moments apart. His breathing was forced and rigid. She couldn't lose him, her boyfriend; no, who was she kidding? He was so much more than that; her life, the one she had wanted to be with more than any other boy she had ever met, the one who always came back, who always came to help, even in the deepest, darkest corners of her dreams. "Ty, please..." She sobbed uncontrollably now, "Ty, hold on...you have to...I can't...I won't...I love you...no..." His eyes were sinking lower and lower. "No...stay...with me." The grip on her hand became looser and looser. "No...Ty!"

In the distance came the sound of sirens, repeating and blaring through the black.


	9. Passage

– **Blip – **

– Blip –

Blurry white sky. Fuzzy grey lines around it.

– Blip –

More light this time. And noises; and some pain. It gets stronger, and bigger, stretching up and through me, thick and heavy. But then sharper, much sharper. A thousand knives balanced on one spot. Hot, deep, antiseptic. But moving further and further away. Sinking into pain.

– Bleeeep –

A bad noise, a red noise. A mumble far away. Voices crowding closer, pushing into the air around me. Pressure on my arm. One prick; the pain goes away. I resurface.

Repeat

Repeat

Repeat


	10. Windows

**The **scene was still pretty odd, Amy thought. She still hadn't gotten used to it; even after the two months, or so, which stretched in between. That seemed like so short a time right now; but on another day the hugeness, the vastness of that gulf between her and normalcy would hurt, really hurt, like she couldn't breathe hurt. She was standing in the doorway, leaning on the white frame, with a can of drink dangling from her fingers whilst her other hand played with the loose change in her pocket, slipping the cold pennies over one another. She didn't really want the drink, but it had given her something to do. She glanced at her watch. Almost over.

Amy watched as Ty's dad bent over his son and gave him a final, sincere kiss on the forehead. She watched Ty's face, so relaxed and peaceful, and listened carefully to the lullaby stream of beeps which came constantly from the cluster of machines surrounding him, but there was no change. Not this time, she told herself. Once or twice there had been some movement, some change in patterns; what the doctors called 'fluctuations'; but over the last few weeks they had got fewer and fewer. Amy had only seen one; it had been on one of these different days, but the thought of it still turned her cold. Ty had opened his eyes. Flashed them open, just as she was looking, and she had been so sure that he was awake, that he'd come back. And she had run to find a doctor; but when they came back everything was as it had been before. No change; just muscle spasms. Except muscle spasms weren't a boyfriend. Weren't the person you loved most in the entire world. It was getting harder, every time, to sit there and chat, like no one was abandoned or lost or forgotten. She was trying so hard, but sometimes...The tears prickled at the edges of her eyes, but experience fought them back. She had to stop now, before she dug too deep and embarrassed herself. She opened the drink can to distract herself, the ring-pull digging like a nail into the joint of her finger. There was no froth; the can was flat. She turned to throw it in the trash can next to the door.

Noticing her out of the corner of his eye one of the policemen turned and started to usher Mr Borden away from the bed. Amy watched from the other side of the door now, through the blinds of the viewing window. His two cupped hands slowly released his son's motionless one as the officer took him by the shoulders, laying it with almost reverence on the pressed white bed clothes. As they past her she could hear the click-click of his handcuffs being replaced, but she could never look at him. She still saw the eyes of the man who had just shot his own son, turning to bring the gun on her.

She went across to the bed now, and sat in the low chair beside it. The blankets were ruffled from where Ty's dad had been sitting; she smoothed the creases away, her fingers brushing against the hard shape of the body below them. Eventually her fingers found his palm, and she sat there, holding his hand and looking out through the open door. Not many people passed; this was a very quiet ward of people like Ty, long term patients and the few friends and family who still returned to visit. Amy turned to look at his face. She smoothed the long dark hair back from his deep eyebrows, careful not to nudge the line of the oxygen feed which turned across both cheeks and hooked behind his ears. He would need a haircut soon; how did they do that?

Her eyes went back to the door as a nurse rattled past with a trolley filled with new bandages and old trays. Doors were very important to her now; she had to know what could come in or go out. She had to sit where she could always see them. Grandpa didn't know yet, she thought, but she'd moved her bed so that it faced the door now. She hadn't been sleeping well since the accident.

In her own way she liked that everything was crisp and white. It was staunched; no blood anywhere. Except when they changed the dressings. Amy had also gotten very good at washing her hands.

Her thoughts always wondered on a Sunday, perhaps because she never really had anything in the day to distract her. School was happening at the moment, just happening. And the horses and everything at home, it was fine. But just fine, never any better. Spartan was slightly scared of sirens now, as they had rushed towards him out of the dark night and screamed to a halt, but it wasn't anything she couldn't deal with. There were things she couldn't deal with though.

She looked at Ty. She hadn't been speaking. She never did. It wasn't because she didn't want the nurses to hear, or that she had some bigoted idea that she and Ty were joined by some supernatural bond of thoughts. The nurses, and doctors, and even Dad and Grandpa, were always talking to Ty, always encouraging her to do the same. Even Ty's dad did, surrounded by police; he'd become hysterical the first time, dissolving into pleaded apologies, wringing Ty's hand until one of the saline drips came free, rinsing both their hands in salty, tearful water. But Amy never wanted to; she wanted silence, not a one-sided confessional, not streams of promises that she swore to keep if only he'd wake up. She'd long run out of those. She just wanted to hear him breathing; it was her single way of clinging to the fragile hope at the back of her mind. And she had to cling to it. Because there was never any other change. Never…


	11. Making Sense

**Ty's** head hurt; like, really hurt. So did his chest and stomach. And he was really hot.

"Infection..." The word came into his mind; but it wasn't in his own inner voice, the one he'd been listening to for the last hundred years of darkness. It was familiar though; he felt he'd heard it at some point in the past. Still, the time seemed so long, he might have been dreaming. It was getting hard to distinguish between the two, especially since he didn't know where he was or what was happening. There were no markers to the days, except perhaps a slight red tinge to the blackness. He faded in and out, and couldn't even remember his previous thoughts; he must have been here forever, wherever this was. But then where was the voice coming from?

He knew he had a body, or something that resembled what the word 'body' stood for in his mind, but sensations in it were strange; like when you press your hand against your leg for a long time, and then it still feels like it's there once you move it. A sweeter voice came drifting through the gloom, which Ty knew he had a tag for, but he couldn't quite place it.

"What does that mean?" Well, that's a stupid question, Ty thought. Everyone knows what it feels like when your hand gets left behind. Didn't they do that study? With the pins and stuff, when the...

The other voice interrupted him. The tone was low and sonorous and the voice had moved. It was nearer to the sweet one, the woman's voice.

"It's quite common in case of this sort." What sort? What was he talking about? Were they not talking to him?

"Especially ones of high trauma and multiple surgeries." Now Ty was slightly scared. He tried to work out the scenario; but his mind was getting fuzzy again. He couldn't remember how the conversation had started.

"Honestly Ty is quite lucky." Ty; that was him. "Not having to go through all this at the moment. But he's fighting, Mrs Borden. And, as ever, all we have to do is allow him to wake up in his own time."

What were they talking about? He had dreams; this wasn't a dream. Therefore he was awake. Why did he need to wake up? A word flashed across the darkness: _mum_. Mum. His mum was out there, that was her; she was the other voice. Then why couldn't she hear him? Why were they talking like he wasn't there?

He cried out as loudly as he could, holding the shout until he felt like whole world would have heard. But there was no answer, no voice at all, neither near or far away. Ty wanted to cry, wanted to throw a tantrum, wanted to scream and throw himself on the floor. But he couldn't; he was frozen. Now words came faster across his mind, in twos and threes. _Trauma, multiple...frozen, move, dark..._ He latched on to two and held them in focus, even though they were more terrifying than all the rest. _Paralysed_ and _blind_. It explained everything except the pain. He must be nothing; a shell of a person.

But then why had the man said _'wake up'_? They were wrong; he couldn't wake up. The mist of darkness and pain and heat was too heavy, it couldn't be moved. As if in confirmation small sparks of pain danced up what he thought was his arm.

Then a voice came from his left, lower down, near his ear, and his arm sparked again. "Come on Ty. For mummy's sake; please." And he desperately wanted to; but it was impossible. He might as well be dead. Emotion overwhelmed his fragile brain; Ty sank back into a dream.


	12. Coming Back

**A phone **rang noisily on the ward desk. Amy jerked awake. Her hair was all around her face and her eyes were blurry with retained tears. How long had she been asleep? Her cheek was numb with the impression of the back of Ty's arm; she rubbed at it and the blood started to flow back to it.

"Hello, Hudson County. How can I help you?" Amy pulled at the corners of her eyes and nudged at her nose with her sleeve. "Coma ward? Yes, that's right. Which patient?" Amy got up to close the door; she'd been having a blissfully dream-free sleep and wanted to climb back inside it. She yawned loudly and clicked the door shut, but left the blind open. If anyone thought of coming to check on them, they wouldn't have to open the door. She went back to the bed and stroked Ty's hair as she always did; then she settled back in her chair and put her shoulder in the grove she'd formed on the bedclothes. She took Ty's hand in hers and closed her eyes.

* * *

"_Coma ward"_ Sparks flew through Ty's chest again, pressures shifted around him. But the words had ignited sometime in his brain. He'd been 'awake' for a little time now, listening to the mechanised hum that had started to pervade his darkness, and some softer sound which came and went. But the robotic chiming of something quite a long way away had broken his meditations. He'd been working on his terrifying theory; finally the idea of endless nothingness was beginning to take shape, he just hoped it wouldn't last long. He'd even wondered if he'd notice any difference when he actually died.

But that faraway voice…had said _coma_. Coma didn't mean death; his mind slowly processed everything, chewing the word over and over. It was different; that meant hope. His spirit struggled to shift its resignation; he might have a chance. Ty began to pray; to thank God. His heart raced within him, he could feel it. People in comas could hear; he'd heard that everywhere before…not that he was any surer of what had come before. A feeling of control raced through him.

Then there was a click, and the faraway voice disappeared. More shifting around him. A hospital; that's what it was, that's why mum was here, why that man had talked about…something. That's why he was in pain. On cue the ripples started back up his arm. "Find those sparks", he told himself, "grab them. Focus." And he tried; so hard. And suddenly a beam of bright white light went flashing through the darkness, and a feathery soft fluttering played around its edges and across the ridges of his cheeks. _Not blind_, his mind commented, and Ty's heart raced again. He felt an energy, unused in all his static hours, flood to the finger tips of his sensitive left arm, and it was enough just too lightly quiver his hand. He felt resistance, felt renewed consciousness flow to his brain as his fingers bounced of something soft and warm. He concentrated on the blackness again and found he could fight it a little longer, let in a little more light, and open his eyes.

All the whiteness dissolved and he could see the greys and blacks, and blues; his head fell slightly to the side of its own accord and he saw a girl lying there. He moved his hand again, and saw it move, grateful for the soft support of the pillow on his aching head, aware of a growing pain and tenderness in his stomach. The girl shifted slowly, her blonde hair retreating from where it had splayed across his body as she lifted her head. She seems tired, she looks tired, thought Ty. The girl blinked; once, twice, then dug her knuckles into her eyes. She looked again, and then turned away. Ty was confused. He was getting more tired himself; he felt exhausted, in fact. But once more she turned back to face him. And this time she didn't look away. Her face quivered, her whole body shook, and Ty realised she still held his hand; that had been the soft, warm cocoon.

Her mouth opened and a thin voice came out. "Ty?"

And through his mind and out of his mouth came an uncontrolled, involuntary answer. "Amy."


	13. Home

Ty was sitting up in bed, wearing his own clothes for the first time in weeks. He'd forgotten how good it was to actually _smell_ like yourself. The sun was coming in through the window, throwing pale green shadows where it passed through the leafy trees; again something new. For the last few weeks it had been pretty much a sea of grey cloud outside the fading orange ward curtains. He put both hands down on the mattress and shifted his weight; the doctors said he could have chronic muscle paroxysms in his lower limbs for the next few years, constant cramp, constant pins and needles. But he had pills to try and make it better; he had pills for everything now. His mood was good today, Ty smiled to himself. He was going to make the best of it whilst it lasted.

He picked up a water bottle from the nightstand and took a deep gulp. The sugary squash felt good, and tasted right, another positive. The switch to proper, cooked food about a week ago had been a good milestone too, though he still hadn't managed to eat more than a small bowl of pasta in one go. But slowly takes it; they said his stomach had to learn its way again, learn its limitations. And it was definitely better than all the mess of the first week; Ty had never felt so empty, so sick, so weak in his entire life.

He yawned. Still getting over the whole lying in bed twenty four seven part. It was amazing how it made you so tired. He wasn't looking forward to seeing how poorly he managed when he might have to get active again. His eyes flickered to the wheelchair sitting just inside the door, in the path of the light from the window. But the doctor's voice echoed in Ty's mind: _bridges when they come_. He closed his eyes and let the sunlight wash over him.

* * *

Amy sat in the kitchen of the farmhouse, chewing on the end of her pencil. Her free hand wove a long loose strand of hair over and between her fingers as she gazed into the blankness of a glass of milk which had sat in front of her for a good thirty minutes. Her geometry homework had migrated to almost the other end of the table.

The screen door thwacked open and Amy jerked up as Lou's small figure struggled into the room, dragging an old camp cot in behind her, leaving a trail of dust across the pine boards and sending more shooting through the light from the window, glittering. She went to help her sister, catching some of the mumbled curses against guests as she went. Together they manoeuvred the canvas and steel frame through the doorway and into the dining room. With a bit more force than was needed Lou pushed open the first door along the hallway and they took the bed inside.

Amy would have given up her own room, but Grandpa had insisted that his was closer to the door and was bigger, enough for two.

"When did they say they'd get here, Lou?" Amy asked, looking out the window again at the long driveway which melted over the hill. "Um, I dunno, Amy," Said Lou, struggling to keep the sarcasm on the polite side, "probably the same time I told you after the last five times you asked." Amy didn't hear the annoyance in her sister's voice though. She was counting minutes and her heart was rushing within her.

* * *

Ty held both arms around the small travel bag balanced across his lap, careful not to allow it to rock backwards into his stomach and chest, as the porter wheeled him down the squeaking cream corridor. His mother's little shoes clicked a few steps behind them and the toiletries and pharmacy bags in the rucksack rattled around as they went through the last pair of doors on the ward and past the nurses' station. 'I've never been in this part of the hospital', Ty thought, as they wove down more and more aisles, following green arrows. They went past a row of silent, empty chairs and a sign reading 'Operating Theatre' and Ty's mother walked along side them and slid his hand off the top of the bag and into hers. Maybe he had been then. Ty swallowed hard and looked at the paleness of the flecked floor rolling past._ That_ memory was still unclear in his mind; but every now and then a terrifying scarlet image would fill his mind, growing and foaming until it plugged his eyes and ears, and a sickening metallic smell would fill his nose. And hands would race across the image; Amy's, and Jack's, and some unknown ones in pale white surgical gloves, all staining with the same red. Screams and sirens would break the silence, and Ty always felt like he was flying forwards, pushed by some horrible force. And then two doors slammed on the crimson. And it all stopped; apart from the smell, which was always there if he breathed deeply enough. A panic attack; that was the official name.

There were more people around now, day patients and visitors. They went past the bright shop with its happy flowers and long rack of 'Get Well Soon' cards. A cold breeze was coming towards them now and Ty shivered slightly. He felt a couple of pairs of eyes on him as he passed and he didn't like it. He wanted to go back to his room, to get out of the crowd. His mood from this morning was fast disappearing, now he felt the anger and humiliation rising inside him.

But then they were at the main doors; and the full breeze hit Ty, and it smelt of the hills and grass. With it he just about managed to bear the embarrassment of being helped into the waiting cab on his crutches. He felt suddenly tired, as if he'd walked the route out and back a hundred times. He put his aching head back against the headrest and his mind did that little amnesiatic jump it had been doing since the accident. Where were they going? Ty closed his eyes hard with annoyance; screwed them up and tried to think. Heart… Ugh, what was it? Heart-something. He'd just been thinking about it; he could see the gate, the drive, Amy, the farmhouse, the…barn. He swore, loudly, but managed to turn it into a cough before his mother heard. _If you can't remember it exactly, redesign it, rename it_. The therapist's voice came to him. Home then; Ty decided.


	14. Not Quite Normal

"**I** still can't believe it all happened. I mean, oh my God, can you imagine, Ty?"

"Malory, shut up." Caleb's voice came from the bottom stall, along with the scrape and thud of a mucking out shovel. Ty, who was sitting in his chair in the barn door, laughed and picked up another harness, brushing soapy bubbles across the leather and studs.

"I'm just saying," said Malory, sounding hurt. Copper trilled as she gave him one final brush and picked up his saddle. He'd been getting a lot of special attention from Malory since that night; and he was enjoying it. Tugging the buckles into place she opened the door and led him out along the aisle, shoes clinking. They both moved delicately across the slightly discoloured patch on the concrete floor. Ty pretended he didn't notice; reaching up to stroke the horse's nose as he passed. Copper looked at the fingers warily for a second, not knowing whether to pull away, but he stiffly allowed the contact, his ears twisting. He tried to shrug it off again; but it had been harder to connect with the horses ever since he'd come back, like they no longer trusted him.

'Put it out of your mind,' he told himself, 'it'll come back in time.' He bent down for another dusty bridle, but he needed more water. Wedging the bucket between his knees he rolled towards the tap. Caleb heard the movements and poked his head over the stall door.

"Y'alright man?" Ty nodded, freewheeling to point at the empty, sudsy bucket. Caleb nodded back. "Hey? Ignore Malory, 'k? She doesn't know what she's saying half the time," Ty leaned forward to wrestle with the tap. "And the other half she's only speaking to fill the gaps."

"I know; it's fine. She doesn't mean it." Slowly the rusted cap began to turn; but this used to be so easy. "I just wish everyone would…" Booooom. The tap exploded in a cascade of freezing water that hit the concrete floor and showered everything within metres. Ty sat in the middle of it, mouth open in disbelief, eyes half closed as water dripped from his lashes. "Ty?" Caleb shouted as he bolted out of the stall. Ty swore, loudly, shaking his dripping arms, as the tap sputtered and returned to a dribble. Unbelievable.

"Whoa," Caleb cried out, slipping on the floor and flying into the back of Ty's chair, "mate, you ok?" "Perfect." Ty knocked the still empty bucket to the floor and looked down at his sopping shirt; why did he always manage to screw up so badly? He shoved his hands down and yanked his wheels around, out of the growing puddle, going to get the mop.

Caleb held up his hand. "No, I'll get it." Ty watched his retreating back. Everyone did everything for him now. He was sick of it. Sick of this damn chair and the way it made him the centre of attention, anywhere he went. _Only two more weeks_, said a calm voice at the back of his mind. Two more than he could take. Caleb came back, wielding the lip mop. He must have seen the look in the eyes under Ty's dripping hair; with a quick look of concern he handed the mop over. Ty realised the stare he was giving too and hurriedly followed it with a smile. Caleb relaxed and laughed, dabbing at Ty's shoulders and swiping at his face with a greening sponge. He couldn't take out his anger on Caleb; it wasn't right; or Malory. Amy had told him that they'd both been pulling double shifts ever since the accident. These were the people he needed.

* * *

"Oh my God!" was the reaction he met with when he limped on his crutches past the living room half an hour later. His mother was sitting on the sofa with Lou, both looking serious and clutching steaming mugs of tea. They both got up and rushed towards him.

"Mum, I'm fine." Ty insisted as she seized hold of his arm, almost making him overbalance. Lou on the other hand rushed past him and into the kitchen, starring with some horror at the thin trail of water which had followed Ty across the yard and up into the house. "It's just water," Ty feebly tried to shrug her off, but his mother had hold and wouldn't let go, steadily dragging him towards the room they were sharing, Jack's old bedroom. "Ugh, these are ruined!" She moaned, picking at the trousers which had stuck to him, and Ty retreated inside his head, too weary to put up any defence. "What were you doing?...What were you thinking?" 'Just water,' thought Ty, 'please mum, stop.' "What are you trying to do to me Ty?" She fussed around him, pulling and pushing him into the middle of the room; his leg twinged. "We'll have to get them all off," she said, reaching for the bottom of his t-shirt, "and what if you're stitches have gotten wet?" Her hands brushed against his dressings and clipped the tape which held them down. Ty backed against the footboard of the bed. "Mum…" He said, but she wouldn't stop. She began to pull his shirt up, forcing his arms higher, making him drop both his crutches with an embarrassing thump. "Oh, look what you've…" She began, but Ty had had enough. He slapped away her worrying hands, smelling iron. "Stop! For God's sake, mum! I'm not five years old anymore."

She backed away, looking offended and disappointed. He knew he'd said too much, but it was what he felt. "I'll do it." He said, in what he hoped was a compromising voice, drawing the sticking shirt over his head with a single wince of pain. "I can do it."

"Fine." She said, moving to the door. "Mum…" Ty started, but she left, slamming the door with more force than was needed. Booooom. For the second time today. Ty closed his eyes; clamped them shut and plastered his hands over his ears. He had to stay in control. _Breathe_. He breathed as deep as he could, trying to force away the acrid smell which was creeping like mist into his nostrils. But the noise catapulted around inside his head, echoing and distorting, just like it had…just like when…Flash. Ty was back there. He sank down against the floor, propped against the bed. He was back; back in the stairwell. In darkness, in pain. "No…" he writhed; his legs flicked back and forth beneath him. His hands beat the sides of his head, trying to force the images away. "Mum…" Coldness, not just from the water, but from inside him. It seeped through his arms, his legs, pulling him down. And Ty let go, and let the panic take him.


	15. Shot Through With Sunlight

***Ring***

*Ring*

"Hello? Heartland Equestrian Ranch; healing horses, healing hearts. How may I help you?"

"Lily?"

"..."

"Lily, is that you?"

"How… how dare you call me? How…" Her voice shook; her hand holding the receiver trembled with anger. She was so tempted to slam it down into the cradle, but something held her wrist back.

"Lily. Listen; please. I only get one call a week."

Why her then? She'd said all she needed to; said every little black detail held in her heart in the cross-courtroom glares. Why not one of your American floosies, huh, she wanted to say, why not some easy blonde bar girl in California, draped in your money and promises? I bet they give you more than just chat on the phone. But he interrupted her.

"I want to talk."

Ha. "I have nothing to say."

"I know. That's why I want to talk."

* * *

Amy laughed wide, opening her mouth and tossing back her golden hair in the evening sun.

"You promised you wouldn't laugh!"

"I didn't know it'd be this hilarious!" She shouted back, sniggering like a little girl as Caleb staggered after Harley. Ty, on top of the playful horse, struggled to hold the reins as he swayed side to side. God, his balance was shot! "I swear you've oiled the saddle or something?" He yelled as Amy rocked backwards on the highest bar of the fence. Caleb joined in the laughing, coming out of his jog and panting heavily. "I can't keep that up; you better not fall off!"

"Whoa," yelped Ty again as the pony took off with fresh pace around the small circle of the pen, "Nah, it's all coming back; obviously. Olympics in two years?" Amy smiled to see him joking, without a shadow of the darkness that had haunted him for the last month.

God; when she'd found him rolling on the floor of his room, ears folded and beaten by his hands, everything clamped so tightly that she thought he was fitting. She shivered. But then she returned to the moment; he was back on the horse, in so many ways. Back on his feet, although with a stick, and sometimes crutches on the tougher days, but this was the best step, back on the horses. It felt like he was back at Heartland properly for the first time.

Ty gave Harley a tentative kick, testing the horse and himself. His hip ached, no doubt, and he could feel the tightness of the milk white tissue across his stomach; but, in a lot of strange ways, this was better, so much better, than all the walking and physio.

Ty let his eyes drift from the bouncing animal under him to Amy. She looked so beautiful in the sun. The grin on his face widened. This was the good time; his old life was coming back.


	16. Corridors

He paced. _Dum, dom, dum, dom…_ Up and down the squeaking corridor, not noticing the muted, suited crowd which streamed passed; he was concentrating. Working it all out. Word by word. But a million thoughts tumbled round his head and he had no grasp to keep them in order. He wished for a paper and pen to write it all down, but no. They wanted to speak _to him_. No prepared questions, no hints or giveaways. No way to get round another reliving. He sat down.

He imagined what would happen. A dark room; small and claustrophobic. It would be intimidating, but they would try to be nice. Patronising; treat him as the victim,_ the injured party_. But what new things would they try? What did they want this time? That was what scared him. Because they had his statement; they'd gone through the forensics with him, shown him all the photos…He shivered. It was like a cross between a dream and CSI. He put his head in his hands, running his fingers through his hair, and sank forward; elbows on knees. His stomach gave a small tug of resistance, with a broad ache of pain. He ignored it best he could. "Nerves" he thought, trying to believe it.

"Mr Borden?" She was short, tiny legs hardly reaching to the arms of the metal chairs, wrapped in something that might have once been a pencil skirt; now a formless smudge. He didn't look at her face. Instead he nodded at his own shoes, and followed her clicking heels away.

Later when he thought back on it, he couldn't remember whether the chair or the file had hit the wall first; most of what he could remember seemed to be entirely composed of anger. The anger that his mother had set flowing inside him that morning when she'd let slip the years of missed child support payments and the depth of her debts. What kind of man…? So the hate and stress were not a long way under the surface on that particular afternoon. They'd sat him down, as before, behind one of those thin tin tables, but in a carpeted room; more like an office than an interrogation chamber. And the man that sat opposite him had laced his fingers together and pressed them to his lips, as if he was trying to say something hard. He brought them back down to the table before he spoke, leaving a fading white heart in the pink. "Mr Borden." Pause. "Ty." It was laced with false empathy. "Um…ahem…" He hacked delicately, which made his moustache quiver. "Something's changed with regards to our investigation of your father."

Ty understood from their demeanour that he didn't want to know. "What?"

"Well…and I understand this may be difficult to appreciate right now…but he's placed a plea bargain with us."

Again. "What?"

The officer, as Ty assumed him to be, sighed with a heave of his shoulders. "He's made us a deal. He'll provide us with highly relevant and damning evidence towards a suspect in an extremely pertinent case in exchange for substantial leniency."

The words were all too big for such a tiny room. "And you're gonna say yes?" He couldn't believe it.

"Well…" Moustache officer started and faltered again. "We've considered it very carefully; we have procedure for such cases…"

"No." Ty couldn't stop himself blurting it out; but it was the most natural thing in the world. How could they even be considering it? The man who had wrecked his mother's life and almost taken away his own?

"Mr Borden, please. Listen to what we have to say. None of this will affect your right to compensation, or the community penalties that your fa…"

"_Community penalties_? _Substantial leniency_? Wait…" Shame crept into the eyes of the officer, and his partner by the door began examining the carpet. Tears of fury crept into Ty's. "No? No way in hell!"

"I'm sorry Mr Borden," he sounded genuinely indifferent, "but those were the only terms he would accept. And given your particular case ended so successfully," Ty's stomach wrinkled at the word, "we decided that to use a thief, as your father styled himself, although an armed one, to tie down a far more dangerous man, for a potentially far longer sentence than your father would have received, was for the greater good." He trailed into silence.

Ty didn't break it this time. He was too shocked. He'd come so far, but now someone had just hit him square in the face. He had no words; his hands came up and his forehead rested against the cold, hard desk, tears trickling through his fingers. "I've finally lost it…" he thought.

He didn't notice the time passing, but the next sound he became aware of above the rushing of his ears was the click of the door opening, and a rustling of papers.

"How's it going?" An open voice asked the officer by the door. Ty heard the chair opposite him grate along the carpet as Moustache turned to face the newcomer. Ty heard him make a noise, and imagined the moustache swinging along with it. Newbie spoke up again; "Well, he's just signed, if that helps at all. Oh, and he asked for another phone call. Chief let him have it." The chair was moved the entire way out. Ty opened his eyes and saw the semi-polished brogues disappear from under the table. He heard them cross the short distance to the door, heard the rustling exchange of forms. He kept his eyes open.

* * *

*Ring*

*Ring*

"Hello?"

"Lily? It's me again…"

* * *

At the door there was a pause of silent reading. Then an: "Ok. Thanks." A scraping noise as the door went to close, then a quiet: "Oh, by the way, what do you want us to do with him now? Leave him nextdoo…?" That was when the chair, and table, and everything that was on it went flying. Ty's mind exploded. _He_ was in the next room… He couldn't remember later if he'd said anything, but if so it was probably something not worth repeating. But Ty was at the door in a flash. They couldn't stop him; he was going to face that man once and for all. Once for all the pain and suffering and hurt. One on one; minus gun.


	17. Automatic

There he was.

Just down the yellowing, squeaking, polished corridor. In the light, for once; but facing away. His hands were cuffed behind his back; they looked awkward and stiff, but his shoulders had relaxed. He shuffled from side to side, gazing out of the gaudily dressed window away to his left, down in the atrium, where a crowd of school kids were being shepherded slowly in front of a proud statue on horseback.

The hands of the officer by the door clawed at his shoulders but Ty struggled through and forwards, his eyes gripping the back of the grey figure. Their shouts of "Mr Borden!" bounced off him, unheeded, but the man heard them and turned round. His father, their shared name; rivers of shame sprung inside Ty. Their eyes met, they were almost together. And Ty swung.

In all his anger he'd forgotten balance, but it came back in a rush as the two of them collapsed backwards onto the cold floor. Ty's leg buckled and his father's handcuffed wrists floundered under the force of the punch. The impact hurt, but Ty's fist flew back again. Here they were again, face to face on the floor, with the sound of running feet and shouts echoing down the corridor, and he was going to get revenge, payback. For himself, and for mum. The angle was strange, his father's face slightly squashed by lying on his side, hands still forced prone behind him, deep eye's open, looking clear into his son's without anger, carefully through the tears of pain, looking for redemption. But Ty saw nothing except the tiny line of blood creeping from the familiar nose, and reached back again.

A hand caught his fist, covering it almost entirely, and held him back as more arms wound round the two of them and dragged them apart. Shouts cannoned about the hallway and echoed down into the atrium, where the stragglers of the school group had turned round in interest. "_Jesus_…" Came in a long low whistle from behind Ty's shoulders, along with a last pair of running feet, then a sharp beep; "Sarg? Yeah…he's just bloody tried to assault him…" But the blinking, bleeding figure dragged to his feet across the hall spoke up, in a ragged voice, "No. No charges; he didn't do anything."

The officer huffed, spoke quickly into the walkie talkie, and gripped Ty's arm under the three pairs of hands that already restrained them. But Ty wasn't struggling any more. "Come on now, Mr Borden, let's go." Then to the men around; "Get them both out of here."

Ty's eyes were fixed back over his shoulder as he was lead away, and his eyes were met the entire time.


	18. On The Porch At Sunset

Ty laced his fingers together, one at a time, one over another, watching as they wove across the grassy background in the twilight. He shifted his weight; the wooden boards of the porch creaked underneath him. He turned to the side and looked at the cold plate of food someone, he assumed Amy, had brought out some time ago. Right now the oblong sandwich and limp fries looked like something from another lifetime. In the distance the Alberta sun was setting over the lonely mountains, gilding their peaks in a smouldering gold. He was pretty cold now; a chill wind was seeping around the corner of the farmhouse, leeching inside his jacket and jeans. He looped his woven hands over his knees and drew them to his chest in defiance of the cold. He didn't even think about going back into the house; didn't even think about turning to face the house. Right now all he wanted was to sustain this numbness; sustain it so that nothing was allowed to ignite it, sustain it so as nothing broke through the shell, because he didn't really know what was inside, underneath. The shadow of the barn was spreading over everything away to his right, taking in the troughs, the chickens, his truck, the other one...

Ty breathed slowly through his nose, placing a bandage around this fracture in his internal shell. He ran his fingers in between his knuckles. Malory's cockerel crowed in the distance, tolling out the fading light. Cupping his fist in his other hand he brought them to his face and breathed again; smelling the still silted muck of the day's work on his fingers. He would have washed them before supper…

Ty placed his hands over his ears and shut his eyes. Deadness. He wanted deadness. He chanted deadness. A lack of feeling because there was no feeling to be found inside him. A lack of feeling because he was adult enough to deal with this. No. A lack of feeling because there was no feeling imaginable adequate to deal with this. Jesus; it was a thousand times worse than anything; a thousand times worse than the twist of lead into his skin, than the sickening thud of…of his fist into her skin, than…than…

The screen door was swung lightly open. Some heavy boots made the three or four paces over to where he was sitting.

"Ty? Come inside. Your mom and dad really want to talk to you."


	19. Listening

Twenty minutes. Ty stood by the doorway; just inside it, so that if they wanted to leave, if anyone wanted to leave, they'd have to pass him. And for twenty minutes he stood there, without a sound, without a look, without a nod to anyone in the room. Amy had come to his side, after Jack had led him in by the arm. Jack's footsteps had gone around to the other side of the table. She had held his hand for a bit; she'd smelt nice. He'd just checked the time on the old Swiss clock and then looked at the floor. And begun counting seconds…

There had been an awkward silence for a bit; he could feel everyone's eyes on the top of his head. He'd leant against the doorframe to get an angle that made his leg hurt, so that the pain would keep him concentrated. Then they'd started talking.

They were round by the sink, and from the sounds of their voices they were standing close, closer than Ty could remember from those few confused years when he'd actually belonged to something called a 'family'. They were talking like a proper double act; going in turns, round and round. Maybe they were even holding hands; maybe his hands were on her shoulders, giving support, squeezing them lightly every now and again. Ty couldn't let himself look; if he did he'd never lose that picture. At that very moment he didn't know which of them, or if it was himself, the product of the two, that he hated most.

* * *

"…witness protection programme. So, you see, we would never interfere with your life here in any way."

"Unless he wanted us to."

"Yes; yes, unless you wanted us to, Ty."

* * *

Because he remembered the way he'd felt; at the bottom of those stairs with that stupid spade in his hands, the moment he'd realised who was standing in front of him. Because he'd been glad then, happy even; actually really happy. Because there was hope there. And perhaps to some extent that hope hadn't died, after all the whole event had finally dragged mum away from Wayne; but that was only because the bastard couldn't stand to have his meal ticket dragged three hundred miles away by her once-dying son.

Ty sniggered to himself, and the room around him went quiet again. He'd just realised something. He'd realised that the hope he'd had in that darkness five months ago, that his dad being there again could bring back his 'family'; well that was what was exactly in front of him. All he needed to do was walk three steps and embrace the two people that should have mattered most to him in the world. And that was quite funny.

* * *

"…hard to take in…"

"…lots to think about…"

"…your own life to lead."

* * *

So why didn't he? Wasn't it exactly what he'd wished for on countless nights in the youth home? What he'd daydream about in class and secretly scribble to Santa at Christmas. Did everything since then matter so much? Apparently his dad had been inconsolable approximately half an hour after the deed had been done; not, Ty imagined, when Jack or Tim had spat in his face that he'd just shot away half his only son's stomach, but when the police officer had laid his hand on his arm to lead him away. That's how Ty now saw it in his mind's eye; and the pathetic, grovelling card that one of the nurses had found tucked behind his pillows and sheets a few days after he'd come back round. He couldn't imagine the man with any genuine sense of grief. And now the reasons for that were starting to become clear.

Because in all those years; all those aching, growing years where Ty had waited every single day for someone to tell him he was wanted by the people that had brought him into this world, all the years of failing to compensate, of terror and anger, Ty realised that his image of the man who had come closer than he had in fifteen years at the bottom of those steps, rifle in hand, had not changed. Five months ago his 'father' was still his hero. What had he thought? That his dad was some secret agent, some millionaire, some illusive superman just waiting for when the world would finally let him return to his son? But if there was no truth you could have whatever lie you liked. And standing in that doorway, so much older in the last few months, with the dull memory ache drifting up through his leg, Ty realised not only that his lie had collapsed, but that he'd also found a better truth.

* * *

"…because we realised, well, I think I really realised first…" His father tittered with laughter here, "that I really still loved your mother; after all these years. And I have to thank you, Ty, because it's you who made me realise that."

"…just need to say…wanted you to hear…"

* * *

Amy had moved away from him slightly; half out of respect, half out of fear, of his silence. But now Ty reached out his hand and found hers again. She was his clichéd, ironic 'truth' now; not his father the thief, not his mother who had twisted his allegiance and trust so many times, who always acted weeks too late to help her son, who'd left him to the fists of countless men, returning at the last to play saviour, but Amy.

"So what'dya say, Ty? How does it sound?"

"Yes. What do you think, love?"

Haha; that was funny too. What did he think? He squeezed Amy's hand, and she returned the touch. Ty knew exactly what he thought. But first he had a few questions. Looking again at the clock, Ty began to speak.


	20. Answering

"Did you know?"

"Did I know what, love?" Lily Borden piped up. She had new confidence. She was out from under the biggest shadow of her life, and she could see nothing but positives in front of her. Now, if only Ty would look up, would come over and join them.

"Not you mum." Ty swung his head slightly, still only allowing himself to glimpse their shoes. A voice inside his mind spoke up against his reason; it told him to be gentle, told him that even if it was what he wanted at this moment, he shouldn't let the malice inside of him get the better of his judgement. Treat her carefully, it said, and she'll leave with her dreams intact. "Did _he_ know?"

"Did _I _know what?"

"That I was here; that I was working here."

"Ty, I didn't even know if your mother had kept calling you by the same name after I left. Do you think there is any way I would have done any of the things I did if I'd known it was you?"

"I don't know." Ty's voice cracked. "You were obviously prepared to do them to someone else's son…to someone else's family." Amy pressed his hand anxiously. He breathed; he'd almost gone too far.

There was a beat of silence. Ty could hear his mother's sharp intake of breath at his bare words. But the reply wasn't that which he'd expected.

"That's fair enough." Brad Borden's voice was as level as he could keep it. "You're right Ty. But that's not me anymore."

Ty had to think for a moment. His cleared picture was blurring at the edges. "So, what did you know? Why here? Why this place, at that time?" Ty shifted on his feet, from one to the other, lifting the weight off to lessen the pain that had grown too great on his right hand side. He wanted so much to look up; to meet that man in the eye.

"All I'd heard was there was a pretty, young girl…" Ty heard the change in direction of the voice. He was looking at Amy. "Who could do all these amazing things with horses, and that she lived out my way. So I thought…the old me thought…that there'd be maybe a dozen horses for me to take the pick of, maybe some cash lying around. An old house like this, isolated, no real security; it sounded like an easy hit, if I'm honest. I didn't know anything more than that, I swear. Hell, if I'd heard some of the stories your mother's told me since; if I'd known half of them…how you ended up here…I mighta tried to get you to give me a hand." Ty burned fresh with shame. The old man's voice paused for a second; for victory, it felt like, but then went on.

"But I knew an old mate of mine had done something similar; he had a method, he'd told me about it, and I was desperate. Ty, you've got to understand the person I'd become…I'd have done almost anything if it'd keep me in cheap booze, in oblivion, for a few more months." The image in Ty's mind gave a simpering grimace of overwrought self loathing. "So one night came, and I needed the money so badly, it was pure impulse. God, Ty; the state I was in…I didn't know what I was doing…it was like drifting through a nightmare, and I couldn't stop myself…"

"It must have been a long nightmare." Amy's voice cut through the pressure of the room. Ty was silent; his next quick remark stuck to his lips. Hush drifted into the space. What was she doing?

His father's voice stumbled too; taking time to recover. "Yeah…yeah, it was, miss. Too long."

Ty felt Amy shift beside him; he stole a quick glance at her face. She caught his gaze. Her eyes were sparkling. "Long enough for you to have come to one of my sessions, to learn the tricks…long enough for you to have come here too. How many horses were you planning to steal that night? As many as you could rope together?" Her voice was blossoming with fury. Ty couldn't take his eyes off her face. He didn't understand, didn't understand at all. All she said was on his side, but he couldn't see any of it. Where was she coming from?

"Amy…" Jack's voice was uneasy. Ty felt, rather than heard, his mother's silence shrinking in on itself.

"No, Grandpa." She took the smallest step forwards, tugging Ty's hand after her. Following her, his eyes brought his head up fully for the first time, but he fought the urge again to look away, to look around. "How long before that night did you come here?"

"Um…I...I just said. My mate had told me about you and this place. That night was the first time I was here."

"No it wasn't. You came, what, three days before? Four?"

This time it was Tim who stepped in. "Amy, what…?"

"No Dad; I'm right." Her face was set with a seriousness and determination Ty had only seen flashes of before. "Is that when you took the sweater?"

Ty blinked; the break in the gravity was so sudden. Sweater? He heard his mother let out a hiccup of laughter; but his father's stance relaxed only slightly. "Come again?"

"Or did you just come that time to scope out the buildings? See who was here and what was here?"

"I don't know what you mean. I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. You planned it all out; the whole thing." She paused, glancing around to see if anyone was going to interrupt this time. Ty tugged gently on her hand, looking back into her eyes. "Amy; I don't understand."

Now it was her turn to return the gaze. "You will Ty…you're the only one who will, maybe…" She turned back slightly, speaking only to him but so as all the others could hear. "The sweater; the one Grandpa used to…to try to…" Hot tears had crept into the corners of her dark eyes. Ty could only nod. He remembered that. The blood and mess. The pain. "But before that. I picked it up. It was lying on the floor just outside Copper's stall. And the door was open; and when I picked it up he came towards me." Ty simply continued to hold her gaze. Amy breathed and went on. "I remember thinking…because it was the last thing I thought before I turned around and saw you…that it was strange that it was there. Because I'd lost it a few days before, and couldn't find it anywhere."

Ty stood still. His brain felt like it was moving through mire. He reached up with his free hand and rubbed it across his face. Amy's words were so simple, but he couldn't put them together, couldn't find any meaning in them. All he saw in his mind was himself, alone in the dark shadow of the barn door, leaning against the first stall.

"Copper came towards me when I picked the sweater up, Ty. Because he recognised it; because it smelt like me." Amy reached out; took his other hand in hers. But all Ty felt, all he saw in the movement, was the blood that had been on that hand. A memory of cold agony ran across his stomach.

"Maybe because you were standing right there." Brad's low voice hinted at a question; but there was something both frightened and sinister behind it. Ty flinched to hear the veiled threat it contained. But Amy didn't make any sign that she had heard him.

"It's the same thing you've done, Ty; with that orphaned foal…do you remember the foal?" Her eyes had begun pleading now, pouring into his, willing him to come round to her side of the argument. "I do it exactly the same in my sessions; I give…one of the audience…and the horse comes to them…"

And suddenly Ty saw it. A package, being brought out from underneath a dark coat, from that dark shape in the middle of the barn in the moonlight. He watched, as he had watched then, the relaxed pony amble forwards to nuzzle into the softness of what must have been Amy's sweater. He broke their look, broke his promise, and turned. He no longer cared what other images fell into the dark fountain of his memories; he had to see the eyes of that man again.

"She's right." The eyes across from him, so similar to his own, hardly changed. Brown lashes flexed down and up again as they both calculated the other.

"Now, Ty, come on." The eyes flickered right and left. "How can she know any of that? You can't believe her."

"She's right," Ty repeated, "I remember."

"Son," The word cut to Ty's heart. "You weren't awake for two months; you could hardly remember names…" He trailed to silence, but Ty heard only the lingering adopted sympathy. There was a tiny movement to the right of the eyes; his mother was nodding, slowly, deliberately to the words of the man whose arm she held.

Ty was silent. He had no argument; Amy was right, he knew it, but he had no way to show his mother the truth. She was acting like a puppet, like a toy in this man's little theatre. How could she believe him? Why wouldn't she believe her own son? His throat stiffened. So this was it; this was what he would have to live with…

Jack Bartlett had scanned the two couples, sizing them up before he spoke. He couldn't bear the confusion in Ty's face as he looked at his parents, or the hurt in his own granddaughter's as she saw that her words had had no effect on the nodding woman. He didn't know if Amy was right; he sure as hell remembered the sweater, how Amy had handed it to him and he'd used it, trying to stop, trying to slow down Ty's bleeding. But he'd never thought about why it had been there; it had never seemed important. God, he would have used the shirt off his own back if he'd had to. But then he'd never realised he'd ever be in this position. He looked back at Ty, the young man he'd known who had grown up so much in the last few years, who'd turned his life around. Who'd turned Amy's life around; who'd even saved her life. He took a step forward, putting himself between the two groups, and made up his mind. He turned towards the older pair.

"I think you had better go." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ty turn away with a heave of his shoulders, blinking furiously.

"Jack, please…" Lily's voice was motherly, full of confused affection.

"No, Lily. It's best if you go. Now." Jack looked Ty's father straight in the face. There was no love lost there for the son he was about to leave behind. Jack knew the only thing he wanted to hear. "We'll leave it there."

Brad Borden breathed stiffly and straightened up, lifting his shoulders. But then he nodded. Taking the hand of the small woman he began to lead her towards the door, pulling her past the steady figure. Jack turned to follow them out. But Lily held back, trying to draw herself away towards the outline of her son, who stood facing away from the room, in the darkness of the archway. "Ty…"

Ty stood still. He took tiny, heaving breaths; trying, forcing himself, to control the overwhelming cries that wanted to roll out of his chest. He crushed his eyelids together, pushing his fingernails as far as they would go into his palms. But tears trickled freely down his cheeks.

"Come on." Putting a hand back over her shoulder, his father pulled her back, turning her face away. Amy watched them pass, not trying to control the look on her face.

Then the door opened; and closed. They were gone.


	21. Epilogue

It was two in the morning. _'Crazy…'_ muttered a small voice at the very back of Amy's mind. Maybe it was, but she had to go, nonetheless. She closed the screen door behind herself and slid down the porch steps. In her hands, taking the place of her torch which had finally died, was the small light of a flickering candle, cupped in a jam jar. But she was led across the yard, up ahead, by the more constant light coming from underneath the barn door. As she went she kicked with her slippers at the ridges made by the tyre marks in the gravel.

At first glance it looked as though the barn was empty. The centre aisle was swept clear, all the buckets and bins stacked away to the side. Amy took two steps inside. The door to Lou's office was closed; the lights on the stairs were out. She turned full circle, then moved forwards, down the centre, over the small discoloured patch on the floor. And stopped. There was Ty.

When he saw her Ty sniffed quickly and rubbed his hand over his face. He knew his eyes were red, but they'd been the same when he'd left the house, what, five hours ago now? Spartan, who'd settled down next to him in the straw, gave a snort and kicked lightly in his sleep. Ty gently rubbed the old horse's ebony back.

"Can I come in?" Amy leaned gently on the stall door, reaching over to undo the bolt. Ty bit his lip and nodded, watching his hand as it moved backwards and forwards over the horse's smooth coat. Amy crossed the straw and sat down, drawing her knees up and cupping her arms around her pyjama legs. Ty, she noticed, was still dressed as he had been earlier. "Ty…" She began; but he lifted a hand, wavering and blinking fiercely. "No Amy. It's over, okay? We don't need to talk about it."

She looked him in the face, but Ty turned away again, focusing, distracting himself with Spartan. Was he serious? With a sigh she bent forward and rubbed away a patch of the straw, leaving a tiny hollow for her candle. Ty turned to watch her. Without a word she placed the little jam jar on the concrete, and turning back reached and took hold of both of his hands. She felt him resist, felt his fingers pull away at first touch. But Amy wouldn't let go; she gently but forcefully pulled his arms round, forcing his face towards hers, and looked straight into those deep brown eyes, through the film of pain. "Ty…" He looked down and opened his lips to start a refusal but Amy lifted her hand and placed one finger delicately on his lips. His beautifully startled eyes followed her. "Ty; back in there…" She paused and drew in a quick breath. "I'm sorry, if…if any of the stuff I said…if it wasn't what you wanted…if you wanted to tell them something else, and leave with them."

She was silent. Ty was silent. All of his energy seemed to have left him. His head fell forwards and he leant his forehead against hers, closing his stinging eyes, rimmed with fresh tears. Only the flickering light of the candle came through them. The glowing warmth of it lingered in her fingers, in his hand and on his lip still. They stayed there, unmoving, for what seemed an eternity. But then Ty felt Amy's delicate, cooling finger leave his lips and her hand ran through the back of his hair. He opened his eyes the tiniest bit; hers were closed, with single luminous tears gathering on the lashes at their corners, and bending in the slightest way, he kissed her. "Why," he whispered, "would you ever, ever, think I would want anything else?" Amy's lips twitched and she smiled, sniffing and opening her eyes to look through her lashes across the inch of space between their faces. But then her eyes grew sombre again. "Because you…you weren't looking at me. All that time I was trying to explain myself, you were looking…through me? Like you were seeing something else. And your face; your eyes…Ty, I couldn't bear what whatever you were seeing was making you feel. And how what I was saying was making you feel."

"Amy; none of that was your fault."

"But if I hadn't said it; then, I don't know, maybe everything would have been easier. I don't want you to lose your mother because of me. Ty, I know how much that hurts. I couldn't bear…"

She swallowed and blinked, not knowing what else to say. But Ty's eyes had hardened. "No, Amy. I haven't lost her. I haven't lost either of them. They're always going to be there, and, I dunno, one day she'll probably come back, trying to say it was all a mistake and that I'm the only one that ever stood by her. But Amy…" His whisper broke slightly; but Ty could not stop now. Inside he gave a tiny smile through his feelings as he realised how she'd managed to get him to open up despite himself. "But, what you said made me realise what I really thought all along. It wasn't just that I hated them both and that I never wanted to see them again. Because that's too black and white. That's what the old Ty would have done; and then a few months later he would have forgotten all about it, gotten himself into some other stupid situation. That's even how mum works now. But you made me see that this place…"He glanced side to side at the glowing timbers of the barn, at the quietly breathing horse. "This place; and the people here, have change me so as I don't need to be that person any more." He smiled and hoped she would too, but Amy held back a little. "I know it sounds corny; but you gave me the truth, and I can't ask, and can't want, more than that." He stroked the golden hair back from her fringe. Amy blinked one more time, deciding one last thing. She sighed. She understood everything he'd said; even if he was right and it did sound like a throwaway daytime drama, but she knew in herself that there was one thing she could never give up on so easily.

"Ty…they…they are you fami…"

But this time it was Ty's turn to raise his hand to her lips. "No; no they're not. I stopped having anything called that years ago."

He kissed her again, quickly and lightly, and reaching out his arms spun her round so that she was sitting against him, inside his arms, with the candle lighting them from beneath in the warmth of the stall. "Until I came here."


End file.
